rude in rhode island

Recently, a friend from Tennessee told me that at times he finds it difficult living in New York, because people tend to lack the graciousness he is accustomed to. I have to admit, I was a little taken aback by the notion. I've always found New Yorker's to be helpful and friendly people. Still, southern notions of manners are something else altogether, and so I can understand where he is coming from. These things are conditioned, I suppose.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a road trip to Connecticut and Rhode Island. The landscape was beautiful, the company delightful, and my hosts were phenomenal. I was completely flabbergasted, however, by how rude so many strangers were over the course of the weekend. The experience certainly gave me a greater appreciation for what the aforementioned friend probably feels like from time to time. It started when our rental car accidentally gave the pickup truck in front of us what can only be described as a love tap. Below, see some excerpts of the conversation:

Crazy Old Rude Man: What the f*ck? Call 911. You just ran into my truck.
Us: Sir, I'm so sorry about running into your truck. This was completely our fault. We will call the
police.
...
Us: Sir, we called the police and-
Crazy Old Rude Man: I already called them! What is wrong with you? Get me your insurance
papers.
*to his wife* Get their license plate number down, I don't want a hit and run with these punks.
Us: I think we should move our cars onto the shoulder
Crazy Old Rude Man: Don't you move your car until the police gets here.
Us: We are on the highway. This is a serious safety hazard. Sir, this is clearly our fault, and we've admitted this to you plainly and repeatedly.
Crazy Old Rude Man: You know what else is a safety hazard? Running into someone's f*cking rear end.

For the rest of the ordeal, the man basically stood at his car and literally stared us down. Eventually, it became too much to bear, and we stared back aggressively, giving up any hope of an agreeable end to the encounter. This was the first and most memorable of a number of shockingly rude encounters over a two day period. It was really sort of infuriating, because our initial inclination was to be polite, apologetic, and generally reasonable.

I never know quite how to react when confronted with inexplicable rudeness. My instinct is often to ignore the other person's hostility and to respond with politeness. The hope is that the other person will see my commitment to calm dialogue and respond by adjusting his own tone or manners. All too often, however, this fails to happen. In these situations, this approach can begin to feel almost ingratiating; a form of defeat. The truth is that I somtimes get angry. Why should I indulge that kind of behaviour for even a minute? If I approach a situation with manners, and one proceeds to disrespect me and himself with unprovoked rudeness, he should be made aware of just how unreasonable his behaviour is. Maybe by reacting more actively and assertively, I can reduce the likelihood of other people having to deal with the same garbage.

I find it difficult, sometimes, being in Rhode Island.

the blue notebook

Recently, I read a new novel by James Levine called The Blue Notebook. The story is told from the perspective of Batuk, a fifteen year old child prostitute living in Bombay. Specifically, the novel is comprised of her notebooks. The narrative technique is very powerful, as it affords the author the opportunity to push traditional topical limits. In the novel, Levine goes further in description and exploration than most would, and creates scenes that he certainly could not through other (particularly visual) media.

Thematically, the novel exposes an important social issue. Child prostitution is a massive problem globally, is rampant, and is one of the more vile activities of the human race. Given the general lack of awareness and attention to the issue, it is admirable for Levine to bring it so much to the fore. Incidentally, all US proceeds from the novel are being donated to the International and National Centers for Missing and Exploited Children (http://www.icmec.org/). Further, since Levine has interacted with child prostitutes as a doctor and researcher, he can more credibly take on the narrative perspective of Batuk. In short, the book is socially important, and comes from a good place.

Nevertheless, reading the novel was a viscerally difficult experience. Levine's writing is believable, at times beautiful and touching in simple ways. What I found difficult were the frequent and graphic descriptions of violence, and in particular, of sexual violence against children. I found myself, variously, cringing, gasping, shuddering, and nearly became physically ill during in a particularly difficult passage. Reflecting on the novel, I have been questioning whether the graphic violence is necessary. As evidenced by my continued thought, and by this post, I was affected by my reading. At times I felt uncomfortable, as though I were reading Lolita without Nabokov's lyricality (and without the implicit social approval that one is given to read Lolita). It obviously moved me in some way, it challenged me, and it encroached upon my own personal boundaries. This is no small part of what good literature should do.

On the other hand, authors bear a greater responsibility than to merely push our boundaries. While important literature should do this, it is hardly a sufficient condition for success. Ultimately, challenges to our boundaries should come from meaning. In this case, I wonder: was the graphic depiction necessary? How did it enhance the work? One answer is that by making the situation real, via description, the author forces the reader to confront a truly despicable (and widespread) practice. While I acknowledge this, isn't the notion of child prostitution repellent enough in and of itself? In other words, wasn't I already there as a reader, given plot descriptions alone?

I probably wouldn't be writing this blog post, though.

Further, who among us has really done anything to educate themselves about child prostitution. Who among us has been moved to take action to help end it? Intellectual awareness of the problem, and a detached recognition of its gravity may not be enough. In this light, I'm left thinking Levine did the right thing in writing a compelling, moving, painful and realistic novel about this unfortunate world.

warmth

I think warmth is the character trait that I find most endearing.
How about you?